


Stay Golden

by Haggledore



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, Humour, M/M, Messing up, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haggledore/pseuds/Haggledore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with a party. Getting drunk. Falling asleep on a random stranger. Misplacing his phone. When the phone is returned, it's with the addition of a new contact. No name just the two words 'call me.' After much prompting Enjolras calls, expecting nothing to come of it. Yet what he does get is much more than he ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Haven't Met You Yet

Why was he at a party? Why was he surrounded by all these people, especially when he knew less than a quarter of them personally? As he pushed through another group of people all milling together, he vowed to kill Courfeyrac when he found him again. Found being the operative word. Although he was in a house that belonged to one of his friends, he could not locate that friend or, in fact, any of his friends anywhere. 

The music was throbbing louder than ever, louder even than his own head. How he wished he hadn’t drunk so much earlier. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time. Most likely due to the fact that his friends had been present at the time so it seemed a much safer idea. But now that he was alone, surrounded by people he didn’t know, forced to listen to music he didn’t like being blasted at ridiculous volumes, he couldn’t help thinking it may have been the biggest mistake of his life. 

Still, he stumbled on, trying to ignore that his vision was getting fuzzy at the edges and that his body coordination was definitely worsening. He really shouldn’t have drunk so much. Damn he was going to kill Courfeyrac for ever convincing him to come to this stupid party. 

When he felt a sudden pressure on his arm, he jumped in alarm flailing wildly trying to find the source of the touch. It probably would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t this drunk and therefore would hardly remember it tomorrow. He stared accusingly at the hand that was gripping his arm as though it was personally offending him. And when said hand started to drag him out of the main fray of the party, he struggled despite the grip not even being tight. Perhaps if he’d been slightly more sober he probably would have realised how easy it was to escape. Still, he didn’t kick up too much of a fuss and followed wherever the mysterious hand was guiding him. 

They made it outside and Enjolras shivered, hit by a sudden rush of cool air. Not that he was complaining. The fresh air was a lot more comfortable to breathe in than the stuffy overly warm air of the house. There was also the added bonus of the lights dotted around the back garden because finally he was able to see who the hand, which was strangely still holding onto him, belonged to. 

“What are you doing?” He demanded, unaware that his speech was slurred. 

Finally the hand let go. “I’ve been watching you stagger around the house for the past hour or so and frankly I was getting bored of seeing you get more and more confused so I thought I’d step in.” 

“I am free to walk around as much as I please, I was invited here by friends and...wait, I do not stagger!” He said, trying to ignore the chuckle it ignited within the mysterious hand man. 

“You were. Anyway, where are your friends now?” 

“That’s who I was looking for, they said they wanted more drinks and never came back and...” 

“Woah,” the stranger said suddenly, holding Enjolras steady after he started to teeter to one side. “Let’s get you sat down.” 

Enjolras made a noncommittal noise, allowing himself to be steered backwards onto a bench that was against one wall of the house. The stranger sat down beside him, but not too close because he was still, in fact, a stranger. He took the opportunity to look over his saviour? Was that what he was? After a quick once over, and then a more thorough look afterwards, Enjolras discovered that he wasn’t just hands. He was a full on man. Shorter than Enjolras himself, loose shirt and tight dark jeans, blue eyes and a mess of dark brown curls adorned his head like a halo. Maybe that did make him a saviour? 

“When did you last see your friends?” the stranger asked, clearly not noticing Enjolras staring at him. 

“What’s your name?” 

The stranger laughed again. A quiet sound. Almost secretive. As though it was a privilege to hear it. Enjolras certainly felt privileged to hear it. 

“Grantaire, my name’s Grantaire. And yours?” 

“Enjolras,” Enjolras said. 

“Enjolras,” the man now known as Grantaire repeated. “I like it. Now, your friends?” 

“Right,” Enjolras said, having lost track of the conversation as he had been more lost in Grantaire’s overly blue stare. 

Maybe he was way past drunk. He didn’t usually sit here next to men and ogle them, especially when he didn’t even know them. And with the mounting desire to lean over and press his lips against Grantaire’s own, he came to the conclusion that he had definitely drunk too much. 

“Yes?” Grantaire prompted again. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head to clear those dangerous thoughts. That was the wrong thing to do. 

He was immediately bombarded with a wave of nausea and his head pounded worse than ever. He must have made some noise of discomfort because he felt, once again, one of Grantaire’s hands on his arm. There as a muffled “I’ll be back in a minute” and then the hand was gone, along with Grantaire. He was left alone in the darkness with the cool night air as his only company. 

“Hear, drink this,” a voice insisted. Grantaire had returned, a bottle of water in hand which he gave to Enjolras. 

“I don’t usually drink this much. Or any at all,” he said after he’d swallowed down almost half the bottle. 

“I can tell. Now, back on the topic of your friends, what are their names, what do they look like?” 

“One’s taller, one’s shorter. Go by the names of Idiot number one and Idiot number two. They are also most hopelessly in love with each other and haven’t quite figured it out yet. I’m hoping though that them not looking for me is a sign that they might have actually figured it out and are finally voicing their feelings. Not that this is really the best environment for declarations of such a nature,” he added as an afterthought. 

Grantaire laughed again and what a wonderful sound it was. 

“Don’t you approve?” 

“Oh I very much approve of them, they’ve been beating around the bush for ages and I just hope they’ve finally figured it out. Otherwise I’ll be quite upset that they haven’t looked for me.” 

Though he made no move to reply, a small smile played on Grantaire’s lips and it increased Enjolras’s urge to reach over and kiss him. 

They sat in companionable silence for some time. It was strange how totally okay they both were with the other seeing as they still barely knew each other. Sometimes words were needed. But right now, they were both perfectly content to sit outside beside each other, in silence, as the party continued on without them. 

Only when Grantaire glanced up did he realise that Enjolras had fallen asleep. Taking pity on the man, he took off his own jacket and draped it over him having noticed him occasionally shivering. Still having no idea who he had come with, Grantaire fumbled around in Enjolras’s own jacket to try to find his phone. He wasn’t the type to usually rummage through strangers’ pockets but desperate times and all. He tried not to rouse Enjolras, feeling sorry for him enough as it was, the man deserved his sleep. And secretly Grantaire thought he looked adorable while he slept. Unfortunately, as he drew his hand away triumphantly with the phone in his hand, he jostled the sleeping Enjolras. He made a noise of protest, muttered something incoherent before shifting closer and resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

He really hadn’t signed up for this. He’d planned to come to the party, get mindlessly drunk and hope that someone would help him find his way home. Instead he had been distracted by an unfairly attractive man, which had led to looking after said man, to now having become his pillow. The night certainly couldn’t have taken a more unexpected turn. 

It was by sheer dumb luck that as he started to scroll through Enjolras’s contacts that the phone started to ring. He answered it immediately. 

“Hi.” 

“Who’s this? Enj? Why do you sound weird, and where are you?” 

“No this is Grantaire. Um...Enjolras is with me at the party. We’re outside in the garden, sitting on a bench.” 

He heard a murmur of voices on the other end of the line before the voice rang clearly through again. “We’ll be there in a minute.” Then the line went dead. 

Sure enough, less than a minute later, the back door opened and two men appeared. When they spotted Enjolras and Grantaire they were rendered speechless. Apparently this wasn’t what Enjolras usually did at parties and, to be honest, this isn’t usually what Grantaire did either. Not that he was complaining. More the opposite. To have a slightly drunk hot guy fall asleep on him was the highlight of his night. 

“Grantaire?” The first man asked, offering his hand politely while the other man continued to stare at the sleeping form of Enjolras with amusement. He accepted the offered and hand shook. “I’m Combeferre, this is Courfeyrac.” 

He nodded in greeting at them both before glancing back down to the sleeping figure. 

“We should really take him home,” the one named Courfeyrac commented. And then to Combeferre, “I can’t wait to see him in the morning. Hung over Enjolras is almost better than drunk Enjolras.” 

Combeferre just shook his head before shaking Enjolras awake. He barely stirred. Somehow, between, them they managed to heave him up and balance his weight between them. They half carried, half dragged his away, back through the house and off into the night. Grantaire was left alone with the ringing sound of their thank you’s as his only company. 

It was only after the trio were long gone and he was starting to freeze from the night air that he realised he still had Enjolras’s phone clutched in his hand. 

********** 

Grantaire found his own way home much more successfully than usual, perhaps due to the unusual lack of alcohol in his system. Before he went to bed he left Enjolras’s phone safely on his bedside table, knowing that if he put it there he would be far less likely to lose it. 

In the morning he was woken by a horribly mundane ringtone that definitely was not his own. He fumbled around; laying a hand on everything on his bedside table except the thing he actually wanted. In the end, his hand made contact with the phone and he answered with a groan, his brain still clouded with sleep. 

“Hello?” A voice said at the end of the line. “Is this the guy named Grantaire from the party yesterday who looked after our drunk friend?” 

Grantaire immediately perked up at that. “Yes, this is him.” 

“Great! We were worried Enjolras’s phone might have gone missing after you had it. We didn’t know if you would keep it. Anyway thankyou for that, Enjolras would be so angry if he lost it.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire replied stupidly. Really? What else could he say? It’s not like he knew the guy personally. 

“Well, do you want him to come get it-“ There was some incoherent grumbling the other end of the line. “Okay, scratch that. Do you want me to come get it from you, me being the smaller hotter one who carried our dear drunk friend home, or do you want to drop it round to our apartment?” 

“I can drop it off to you on my way to college,” Grantaire said after checking the time. He needed to leave soon otherwise he would be late. Maybe it was a good thing that the phone rang because otherwise he would never have gotten up in time. 

“Thankyou that’s really great of you,” Courfeyrac sighed before reeling off their address. It turned out they didn’t live too far from each other so Grantaire wouldn’t have to go too out of his way to get there. 

“So he’s bringing it over?” Enjolras asked when Courfeyrac put the phone down. 

“Yepp,” Courfeyrac confirmed. “I’ll see you later, I’m going to meet Combeferre so make sure you listen for the door and keep drinking lots of water.” 

“You’re not my mother.” 

“Maybe not biologically but ‘ferre and I are your backup parents. Someone has to sort you out when you get all grouchy and no one else would take the job.” 

With a smile and a wave he left, leaving Enjolras moping around on the sofa, waiting for Grantaire to arrive with his phone. 

He only had a dim recollection of the night before and even then he wasn’t sure whether any of what he remembered was true. Shaking his head, he lay down and closed his eyes, willing away his headache and tiredness. Begrudgingly he got to his feet when he heard a knock at the door. He could have sworn he’d only been lying down for a second or two. Still wrapped up in his duvet, Enjolras shuffled to the door, grumbling all the way, though not loud enough for the person at the door to hear. 

“Hello,” he said after he had opened the door. 

“Hi,” Grantaire replied, looking awkward. 

Enjolras couldn’t help but notice the way the man’s eyes travelled up and down his body. Maybe he was judging his duvet. It was covered in a ghastly floral pattern that had been picked out by Courfeyrac, much to his own complaint. It was awful enough to definitely warrant a few stares. 

“I brought you your phone,” Grantaire continued, oblivious to the fact that he was now the one being scrutinised. 

“Thankyou, I really appreciate it,” Enjolras said, finally getting back on track with the conversation. 

There was just the vague hint of a smile on Grantaire’s face at that but it made no notion as to wanting to grow any wider. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel sad. 

“How are you? You were pretty out of it yesterday.” 

“I’m fine. I just have a headache and I’m a bit tired.” 

“Oh sorry to have disturbed you then. I should really be going anyway.” 

Enjolras felt bad for that, he hadn’t meant what he had said in a rude way. He meant it more as just a statement, an answer to the question. 

“Okay, well thankyou again for giving me my phone back.” 

“No worries, see you around maybe.” 

Their eyes met for a second before Grantaire turned and left. Enjolras looked down at his phone, now safely in his own hand, and couldn’t help feeling at a loss. He didn’t even know the guy, why was he feeling anything at all? But the worst thing was that he couldn’t even identify the emotion he was feeling which was what bothered him the most. He didn’t really do emotions and he definitely didn’t do secret emotions that needed decoding before he could even feel them properly. It just seemed like a hassle that he didn’t need in his life. Preferring his usual method of moving on, Enjolras simply chose to forget the whole incident. That was the simplest thing to do. Well at least it had been. 

********** 

“He dropped your phone off then?” Courfeyrac said as soon as he walked through the door late in the afternoon. Enjolras made a noncommittal noise despite having his phone in his hand and continued to stare at its screen blankly. “Something wrong?” No response. “Enjolras?” 

He glanced up, his eyes glassy as though he wasn’t really there. For one panicked second Courfeyrac genuinely thought there was something seriously wrong. But then he remembered how much of a drama queen his friend could be sometimes and carried on into the apartment, passing Enjolras on the sofa, and made a cup of tea. 

Leaning against the kitchen doorframe and blowing casually on his tea, he looked back over to Enjolras who was still contemplating his phone. Finally having enough, he plopped down on the spare seat beside him and grabbed the phone out of his slackened grip. 

“Seriously, what’s the matter with you?” He looked at the screen but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It was just a list of his contacts. His name was there and so was Combeferre’s just above it. “Right, I’m not even going to pretend to know what is wrong with you,” he said, handing the phone back. 

Enjolras took it and looked over to his friend. “What do I do?” He asked, seemingly not to have heard anything that had been previously said. 

“About what?” Courfeyrac demanded, still exceptionally confused. “Maybe if you’d stop being so cryptic we might actually get somewhere.” 

Sighing dramatically, Enjolras thrust the phone under his nose and pointed out directly what the issue was. It took a moment for Courfeyrac to take in what he was being shown. But once he did he let out a whoop of joy and stared at Enjolras incredulously. 

“Is this what I think this is? Did Grantaire leave that in your phone?” 

Enjolras nodded. They both stared at his phone screen where a new contact had been added. There wasn’t a name but there were the two words ‘call me’ followed by an unfamiliar number. 

“So are you going to call him?” Courfeyrac demanded, a wide grin on his face. 

“I have no idea. I mean, I don’t even know him.” He looked pleadingly at his friend, willing him to tell him what he should do. He didn’t. He just continued to smile. 

They didn’t speak about the matter again until late that evening when Combeferre had come round for an exceptionally late dinner. Enjolras didn’t believe a word of it, he knew it was just an excuse for him to see Courfeyrac again. He’d learned that, despite the party, they still hadn’t gotten anywhere nearer to actually being together. Even Enjolras, with his obvious lack of relationship experience, could see how much they liked each other and yet here they were, still dancing round each other. He was actually starting to debate on whether he should just lock them together in the same room until they confessed. He smiled to himself at that. It would be nice to see them both happy. 

“Thinking about your mystery man?” Courfeyrac teased from where he was sitting with Combeferre at their small table. 

“No,” he snapped, feeling his face heat up. 

Combeferre looked at them both curiously. Saving Enjolras from further embarrassment, he asked Courfeyrac what had happened to which the man in question was happy to explain in as much detail as he could. After he was finished with his exaggerated rendition, they exchanged a glance before they turned simultaneously to stare at Enjolras. 

“Are you going to call him?” Combeferre asked, taking off his glances and cleaning them on his shirt. 

“Like I said to Courf’, I don’t even know him and I barely remember last night so I don’t see why he would want me to call him in the first place.” 

“Well you must have made some kind of an impression.” 

“A poor one.” 

“If it helps, he’s in college,” Courfeyrac volunteered. 

Enjolras perked up at that. “What does he study?” 

“No idea, I didn’t ask. He just mentioned that he’d drop your phone off on his way to college.” 

“Look, ultimately it’s your choice,” Combeferre cut in as Enjolras slumped back against the sofa cushions. “When we met him briefly he didn’t seem too bad, I mean he’d stayed with you all night just to make sure you were okay. Personally I think you should go for it. He’s clearly interested and you need to have some fun for once. If things don’t work out then they don’t work out. It’s that simple.” 

“It’s that simple,” Enjolras echoed hollowly, not believing him in the slightest. It was never that simple. 

A silence ensued as he continued to contemplate Combeferre’s words while Combeferre and Courfeyrac collected their plates together, washing them up in the kitchen before packing them away in the correct cupboards. When they came back into the main living area they both sighed when they saw Enjolras staring at his phone again. Taking pity on him they both sat down either side of him and put an arm around his shoulders. 

“Just call him,” Combeferre said. 

“What’s the worst that could happen? And he doesn’t have your number right? So if you panic when you call him just end it, he’ll never know it was you. But for the love of all things French please just make a decision, this suspense is killing me.” 

“Fine I’ll call him.” 

They both cheered, Enjolras just looked disgruntled. 

Combeferre checked his watch. “I should go, it’s getting really late.” 

“Why don’t you just stay over,” Courfeyrac said. “You don’t have classes tomorrow so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll make up the sofa bed. 

For a moment Combeferre looked as though he was going to decline but then he saw something in Courfeyrac’s expression that changed his mind. He nodded. Courfeyrac beamed. Enjolras had had enough. 

“I’m going to bed.” 

“I thought you were calling your man?” Courfeyrac said, collecting the cushions from on the sofa together. 

“One, he’s not my man and two, it’s very late.” 

“Love doesn’t have a closing hour Enjolras.” 

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Not having the energy to argue, he turned around and went to his room, calling out a ‘good night’ before closing the door. After changing out of his clothes, he picked up a book and settled into bed. About ten minutes later, he closed it and placed it beside his bed. His phone caught his eye as he went to turn off his bedside lamp. 

Grumbling to himself, he snatched it up, found his contacts and dialled the mystery number. At such a late hour he didn’t expect anyone to answer. But did he want anyone to answer? Would he be disappointed if they didn’t? He assumed it would go straight to voicemail which would save him from any future guilt because then he could always say that at least he tried. What he didn’t expect was for someone to pick up after the first ring.


	2. When My Heart's Not Skipping

“You did what?” 

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t explained the story right. Had he missed any details? Not that he was aware of. Then why was he reacting like this. It was totally uncalled for. 

“Please tell me you weren’t that stupid.” 

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Grantaire replied, trying yet failing to sound annoyed. 

“You don’t see what the problem is. He doesn’t see what the problem is,” Jehan said, gesturing around the empty room. 

“Why do you do that, talk to people who aren’t there? You know what, never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “Look, I thought you’d find it funny. And you were the one who kept telling me that I need a relationship.” 

Jehan turned to him, incredulity written all over his face. “No R, I find it funny believe me. And yes I’ll admit I did tell you to find a relationship. What I didn’t say was to enter your number into a stranger’s phone while they are flat out drunk in hope they’ll remember you and give you a call.” 

“Well when you put it like that...” 

They were sat crossed-legged on Grantaire’s apartment floor facing each other. He’d recently moved and the place - though freshly painted - was a mess. Brown boxes bordered the edges of his living room leaving a large square space in the middle where the two sat, a box between them acting as a makeshift table. 

Grantaire set his mug down on its surface, ignoring the multiple coffee rings that had already stained it, and sighed. 

“Look he probably won’t even call so what does it matter? I’ve made an idiot out of myself plenty of times before, I might as well add another embarrassing failure to the list otherwise people will start to think I’m boring.” 

Jehan laughed, shaking his head. “Quit whining, he might call. I mean you already went over there to drop his phone off so clearly he remembers you. Then again he might not call you but that’s not really the serious issue right now, is it?” 

Grantaire frowned at him. “Then what is the ‘serious issue’?” 

“These boxes,” Jehan said, grabbing the nearest one. He ripped the tape off and opened the flaps revealing multiple shirts, all screwed up in a mismatched heap along, with a few pairs of shoes. “I’ll start putting these away,” he said despairingly, opening another box and finding the exact same contents. “You start on those ones.” 

Slowly, very slowly, the walls of boxes started to thin. They began with the kitchen, searching through every box until they found kitchen related objects, Jehan grumbling the whole time about his inability to label the boxes before he moved. When the majority of his essentials had been packed away in their corresponding places, for example the cutlery taking its place in one of the kitchen draws while the pans took up residence in the cupboard under the sink, Jehan stood in the middle of the room and stared around in apparent confusion. 

“What?” Grantaire asked, adding more books to the already teetering piles that sat in one corner. 

“Where actually is your furniture?” his friend replied, gesturing around the room that only housed one large bookcase that was already full. 

“Downstairs. I convinced Bahorel to let me store it in his garage until I got a few things sorted out up here first.” 

“I don’t think you thought that plan through very well.” 

“And why ever not?” 

“How on earth are we going to get all of it up here without help?” 

“Shit.” 

********** 

Somehow they managed it. Somehow everything went according to plan. Though neither of them knew how that happened at all. Somehow they managed between them to heave all of Grantaire’s furniture up the two flights of stairs to his apartment, squeeze it through his door and set it into its rightful place. The bed had been the worst. At one point he’d reached the point of threatening to saw it in half just to make it fit. Luckily Jehan managed to get the angle just right to slide it up the stairs and prevent Grantaire’s mad raging with a saw. 

He only had a small wardrobe so that was no bother. It was made out of very light wood, and the same went for his coffee table. Next to come was his sofa, to lastly be followed by another two bookcases. 

By the end of the day, when the sun was just beginning to descend below the horizon, they collapsed onto his sofa and let out sighs of relief. Somehow they had managed it. Somehow, within the space of one afternoon, they had managed to make Grantaire’s new apartment fit for human habitation. It was still no way near finished. But at least the apartment no longer looked as though he was squatting in an abandoned storage room. 

“I wish...I really wish I had the energy to move,” Jehan said with great effort, lifting his head to look over at Grantaire who had his eyes closed on the opposite end of the sofa. “But unfortunately I do not so you’re stuck with me.” 

Grantaire barely managed to respond, only grunting and feebly dragging a blanket off the back of the sofa until it was covering his friend. The adrenaline rush had finally worn off leaving him feeling heavy and worn out. 

Slowly he pulled himself to his feet. Moving one foot then the other, he made his way into his new bedroom, not even having the energy to marvel and its new excellence. Everything had its place, everything was clean. There were no clothes on the floor (not yet anyway). And the curtains were open, allowing in the fading light of the orange sun. Still, he paid no mind, collapsing on top of his bedcovers and falling to sleep almost instantly despite it only being just past nine. 

The streetlights outside glared through his window. Blinking through his discomfort, Grantaire got up and yanked his curtains closed. Feeling much more wide awake than he had a few hours ago, he quietly made his way out of his room and through the dark living room into his kitchen. He poured himself two glasses of water and tiptoed back through the silence into his room. 

For some reason he felt like doing some watercolours. Maybe it was his new apartment. Maybe it was fuelling some new inspiration. Either way, on average, he usually only slept for about four to five hours a night so this wasn’t really an irregular occurrence. 

Gathering up his paints, an array of brushes, and one of his many sketchbooks, he settled back down on his bed. Dipping the first brush in the water, he started to paint. He couldn’t stop thinking about the sky and so soon his paper was awash with blues and purples, all blended and beautiful, capturing the true essence of the sunset. Mostly he worked in silence, occasionally humming a rhyme whenever he swapped brushes or had a sip of water. 

His phone rang at the most inopportune moment. He was just about to take a sip of water when he was jolted by the sudden sound. But then again, he was rather glad because, on closer inspection, he realised he’d just been saved from drinking his paint water. 

“I’m so glad you called, you just stopped me from drinking paint water,” Grantaire said in a rush as soon as he answered the phone. The number was withheld, he guessed it was Enjolras. Well, he hoped anyway. 

“I’m sorry?” Enjolras replied, clearly confused. 

Grantaire’s brief moment of relief of it actually being him calling was ruined by the realisation of the stupid thing he had just said. Now he felt like drowning himself in his paint water. If only there was enough in the glass, he thought bitterly. 

“I was painting and I was about to drink from the wrong glass and you...You know what never mind. I’ll just shut up now.” 

To his amazement, he heard a huff of laughter from the other end of the line. “I suppose I’m glad I prevented that then. I wouldn’t want you to die before we even got to speak again.” 

A smile blossomed on Grantaire’s face at that. “So you saw that I added my number to your phone.” 

“Yes I did.” He couldn’t tell if Enjolras sounded happy about that or not. “Anyway I called because well...” He suddenly sounded very awkward. “You said to call you and I thought that maybe we could...um...go out some time.” 

Somehow, Grantaire’s smile grew even wider. “Yeah, I’d like that. Are you free tomorrow, say around two?” 

“Two is good. Do you know Toujours park?” Enjolras asked. 

“Yeah, I live pretty close.” 

“We could meet there by the massive oak tree. Do you know the one I mean?” 

“Yep, see you there at two tomorrow afternoon then,” Grantaire clarified. 

“Yes,” Enjolras said, a small smile on his face now. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight Enjolras.” 

The line went dead and Grantaire thought he might shed a tear of joy. How could that have gone so well? How had his plan actually worked? How was this man even real? At that moment he felt both the luckiest and stupidest man ever. Unable to contain his sudden joy, he ran through to his living room and launched himself onto his friend. Only afterwards did he think that it probably wasn’t the best way to wake him up. 

Jehan honestly thought he was having a heart attack. Flailing around madly, he overbalanced and tipped himself, and the weight on top of him, over the edge of the sofa and onto the hard laminate floor below. They both let out cries of pain as Grantaire landed on his back and Jehan landed spread-eagled on top of him. 

“What the hell!” he cried. 

“Get off me,” Grantaire said, attempting to push him off. 

They had landed in the gap between the sofa and the coffee table, leaving them not much room to manoeuvre. 

“You were the one who landed on me!” 

Somehow Jehan managed to push himself up and off Grantaire, much to the other’s grumbling. They both sat up, rubbing different parts of their body’s in hope that it would make the pain go away. 

“Why would you do that? You scared the life out of me. I thought I was genuinely going to die.” 

He looked so frazzled that Grantaire felt slightly bad for him. 

“Sorry about that, I got a bit over excited. It’s just that Enjolras called, Jehan he actually called me and we’re meeting tomorrow. It worked. For once my stupidity paid off.” 

“That’s really great and I’m pleased for you and everything but seriously, if you ever wake me up in that way again I will not be held accountable for my actions.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“Now I’m going to go back to sleep now and pray for your sake that I don’t see your face again until the sun is bright enough to blind me.” 

Grantaire nodded, not that Jehan saw because he’d already crawled back onto the sofa and closed his eyes. With significant more bounce in his step, Grantaire walked back to his room. In the centre of his bed, his painting lay half unfinished. Figuring it would be better to get some sleep because he had a date tomorrow – woah a date, that sounded so official – then it would be better if he didn’t turn up looking like a zombie. Shoving his supplies off the bed and onto the floor, he climbed under his bedcovers and fell asleep not long later. 

********** 

Somehow he managed to stay cool throughout the entire conversation. That was definitely a new life achievement. He tapped the screen to end the call and sat there staring into a corner. How had that gone so smoothly? He didn’t do smooth. Not when it came to dating, feelings, relationships. Enjolras was hopeless with all that. 

Unable to contain his sudden glee, he hurried out of his room to find Combeferre and Courfeyrac. 

It was dark when he entered the living room and he couldn’t see either of his friends anywhere. Fumbling for the light switch, he was pretty sure he heard a strange noise and the hiss of a voice. 

“Guys?” He said, but there was no reply. 

Finally he located the light switch and flicked it on bathing the room in light. There was a squeak from across the room and some scrabbling as Enjolras’s eyes accustomed themselves to the new brightness. 

Courfeyrac was sitting exceptionally close to Combeferre who was lying down on the sofa. Their faces were mere millimetres apart and both looked distinctly flushed from embarrassment and something else. 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said stupidly, still standing with his hand up resting against the light switch. He tried to back out the room but stumbled, luckily managing to catch himself before he hit the floor. “Goodnight,” he called over his shoulder, his voice an octave higher than usual. 

“Enjolras wait!” Combeferre called, sitting up quickly which upset Courfeyrac’s balance, consequently leading to him tumbling to the floor. “Oh hell, sorry,” Combeferre said to him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. He resettled himself awkwardly at the end of the sofa. 

Against his better judgement Enjolras did pause. He turned back to his friends but stared at the floor, feeling bad for interrupting their ‘moment.’ 

“Look, what you saw...” 

“You don’t need to explain yourselves. You’re well within your right to do...whatever you want to do here,” Enjolras explained with a vague gesture of his hand. 

“Be quiet Enjolras. You’re our friend and we were going to tell you tomorrow and it was just a slight surprise to see you again.” 

“It kinda just happened,” Courfeyrac said, taking over from Combeferre. “We both knew about the other’s feelings but we just never said anything. Tonight one thing led to another and here we are,” he finished with a shrug, coming back to himself slightly, the shock wearing off. 

Really there was no need to explain. Enjolras was fine with his friends being together, in fact, it was a relief that they had finally admitted it to each other. Maybe this hadn’t been the best way for it to be discovered but beggars can’t be choosers and all that. 

The pair had ceased their babbling as Enjolras came out of his thoughts. They were both staring at him expectantly and he wasn’t entirely sure why. 

“So?” Courfeyrac said. 

“So what?” 

“What happened on the phone? I assume it must have been good news judging by the way you came bounding out your room. Got yourself a date did you?” he teased. 

“I didn’t bound,” Enjolras grumbled pettily. “But yes. I called Grantaire and we’re going out tomorrow just to let you know.” 

“You better be thankful.” 

“Thankful? Of you, why?” 

“Because without our pressure you never would have done it. See sometimes peer pressure does pay off,” Courfeyrac laughed, looking to Combeferre for support. His expression fell when I found none. 

Enjolras just shook his head. “You’re a pain and I’m going to bed. I’ll see you both in the morning.” 

Luckily he didn’t see them again, nor did he hear them. Oh how he had never been more thankful for thick walls and solid wood doors because he was very sure that, as he left the room, he heard Courfeyrac leading Combeferre into his bedroom. 

The next day at breakfast, it was rather a silent affair. No one really wanted to bring up last night’s events although they all still sort of wanted to bring it up. Despite Courfeyrac and Combeferre feeling slightly awkward about the whole ordeal, Enjolras was their best friend and they were sure that he was totally fine with them being together. Furthermore, they were tired of concealing their feelings for the other and so the urge to do something was starting to become unbearable. 

“So your date,” Courfeyrac began, finally breaking the silence. “What time are you meeting?” 

“At two,” Enjolras confirmed, suddenly remembering he had a date in less than six hours. 

The other’s registered his horror at the exact moment he did. 

“Come on Enj, everything will be fine,” Combeferre said comfortingly. 

“Yeah and if he turns out to be really weird or completely boring we can arrange a fake emergency where say you send off a panicked text and one of us will call in the next few minutes with an emergency that can’t be avoided and so you make your swift apologies and leave him standing in the middle of the street.” 

“That’s not very polite.” 

“Maybe he’s not polite.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be talking me into going on this date, not talking me out of it.” 

“Yes Courf,” Combeferre cut in with a meaningful look at him. “It’ll be fine,” he said, now turning to Enjolras. “Just stop stressing and give yourself enough time to get ready.” 

Ah, if only Enjolras had followed that advice. He completely forgot about his date, getting too caught up in university work that was due in a week’s time, until an hour before he was supposed to be there. 

Letting out a very undignified squawk, he ran to the bathroom, showering in double quick time. Next on his list of things to get ready was his hair. Always tricky. If he blow-dried it there was a good chance he would turn up to his date looking like an overly large blonde poodle, but he didn’t have enough time to try and tame it while letting it dry naturally. In the end he chose the middle option. He brushed it until it was knot-free and lying relatively flat on his head. Then he partly blow-dried it and left the rest to dry on its own. 

The next challenge was clothes. What on earth should he wear? What was appropriate? Where were they going after meeting at the park? They should really have planned this more. Or maybe they shouldn’t be going at all. Enjolras let out a loud groan at himself, deciding that his clothing wasn’t the most pressing issue. He picked out a simple white V Neck t- shirt and a green jacket because, unfortunately, his favourite red one was being washed at that precise moment. Just his luck. Shimmying into black skinny jeans, he then checked his hair, deciding it was safest to tie it back loosely. 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Courfeyrac commented when he left his room. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was living with the fashion police,” he retorted, lifting up stacks of paper and shifting aside books in search of his keys. 

“Ah there’s your problem, see I don’t live here so I can make as many comments on your clothing as I want.” 

“Then maybe I should comment on the lack of your own.” 

Combeferre sat looking abashed while Courfeyrac just smirked, clearly very proud of himself that he was standing in the kitchen wrapped in just a duvet. Well at least he was back to normal. It had been so strange the previous night to actually see a relatively shy looking Courfeyrac. That just wasn’t right. 

“Just have fun. We’re here if you need an excuse to escape. Remember to let us know if you go back to his or if he comes here. Oh and make sure you use protection.” 

“It’s one date Courf! I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.” 

“Oh come on Enjolras, live a little.” 

“Have you met me? The only way I can live and be an ‘out there’ kind of person if I’m trying to convince a large crowd that we don’t need a monarchy, not if I go on one date with a stranger,” Enjolras argued back, finally locating his keys. “Now I need to get going, I’ll see you later.” 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Courfeyrac called out to him just as he shut his apartment door. 

********** 

Grantaire paced up and down agitatedly, glancing up every so often to scan the area around him. Still no one appeared. Well no one with long blonde hair and who was super hot anyway. There was a handful of other people, however, walking dogs or walking alone or socialising with friends, others walking hand in hand. But none of them paid any attention to him as he walked back and forth occasionally tripping over the tree roots of the enormous oak tree he was standing in the shadow of. 

Checking his phone, he read the time as being just past two. Okay so maybe he had arrived slightly early. And maybe he was slightly overreacting because his date was a few minutes late. 

“Uhh, hi,” a voice said from behind him. 

He turned and there stood Enjolras, decked out in jeans that should be illegal because damn his legs looked good, and a jacket that was not only Grantaire’s favourite colour but was also just tight enough for him to see that Enjolras definitely worked out. 

“Hey,” Grantaire said. 

They both stood there watching the other, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. 

“So, umm, what do you want to do? On the phone we didn’t really say.” 

“I dunno. It’s a pretty nice day, we could just walk around and talk a bit then get coffee or something?” 

“Sounds good,” Enjolras smiled. 

And so they set off at a slow pace away from the oak tree towards the path that encircled the large lake. The conversation started slow with basic questions and short answers. But as they grew more comfortable and confident they both fell into a good rhythm and conversed with ease. 

“My friend mentioned you go to university, what do you study?” 

“I do a joint honours course in Art and the History of Art. It’s fun but a lot of work. And yourself, assuming that you go to university as well?” 

“I also do I joint honours course but it’s in English Literature and Political Science and it too is also fun but a lot of work.” 

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “After meeting you so drunk hardly able to string a sentence together it is surprising that you chose two very demanding subjects to study.” 

“I don’t usually spend my time that way I can assure you.” 

“I’m not complaining. If you hadn’t been drunk we would never have met and you would never be here right now. So to be honest I’m quite grateful for your momentary lack of self-restraint,” Grantaire assured. 

“Well, for the record,” Enjolras began, smiling over at him as they continued to walk. “If you want to ask someone out in future I’d advise just asking them straight instead of being cryptic about it.” 

“I wasn’t even sure you’d remember me,” Grantaire replied. “What with you being completely drunk and everything. My friend thought I was a total idiot when I told him what I did; he didn’t think it would work at all.” 

“I think my friend’s thought you were an idiot too, but in a good way. They just found it very funny and urged me to call you.” 

“I’m glad you did call.” 

“So am I,” Enjolras said, smiling again, consciously aware that this was the most he had done so in quite some time. 

That was definitely a good sign. Wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh I wonder what will happen on the rest of their date? I'm very sorry for the long wait, life is very hectic right now but don't worry, I will try to update soon (and if you're waiting for an update on Tipping Point then please bear with also because I promise an update is coming soon for that aswell). I hope you enjoyed! And please leave a comment if you can?! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new story that was the result of late night musings that somehow manifested into a multi-chapter fic. I'm currently in the middle of my A-Levels so please be patient with updates and for those who read Tipping Point I promise an update is coming. I welcome feedback so leave a comment if you can and if you liked it please subscribe. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you next time!! :)


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